The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Pharoah Dynasty
An ancient sorceress is on a quest to bring her long-lost warrior-king to the modern era in a bid for global domination. Can the heroes of the modern world stop her before all is lost?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
I'll be heading off to Melbourne tomorrow to visit friends for the next week or so. I should be able to get internet access, but I don't know how much time I'll have to post. Hopefully, it won't be too bad.
Mat stood in front of the commune, watching as a group of people were busy splashing petrol onto the warehouse walls. Doorways had been barred up and guarded, making sure nobody got in or out. All of the people, men and women, wore balaclavas around their faces, as well as identical T-shirts all with the same anti-mutant sentiment printed on front.
Mat stood, and he watched.
The sound of quiet footsteps came from behind him. Not bothering to check and see who it was, Mat waited for them to fall in line. He felt the person settle in next to him, assumed they were watching this as well. The person gave a gurgling cough, as though their lungs were filled with fluid.
“You know what's going to happen, right?” The voice was high, feminine. That of a teenage girl.
Mat said nothing, simply continued watching.
“You're not going to do anything to stop them?
The people surrounding the warehouse tossed away their jerry-cans. Mat saw several of them pull a box of matches out, lighting the boxes up. Flames met petrol, and soon the fire had sprung up around the building and in front of doorways.
“Right, what could you possibly do to stop them?” The voice had taken on a spiteful tone. Screams were beginning to sound from inside the commune.
Mat felt the presence of the person standing next to him shift, as they started walking away. A small, teenage girl in a summery dress was making her way to the burning warehouse, dark hair cascading down her back. She stopped just short of the fire and turned to face Mat, her face twisted into an ugly sneer.
“You couldn't even save me, could you Mat?” His sister's icy glare cut through him, made him wither inside. She took a step backwards, engulfing herself in the flames that were now covering the commune. She began to laugh, a cold and ugly sound that grated against the ear. Her laughs mingled with the screams of those dying inside, creating a ghastly harmony.
Mat could only watch, as Lily burned along with the friends he loved.
He awoke, thrashing, with a scream. Not the small, startled yelp that often accompanied his waking, but a full, terrified scream. When his skull tightened, and his stomach lurched in protest, Mat slumped back and took several long, gasping breaths. He was dying. Had to be.
Three things came to his immediate attention. Firstly, he felt like hell. His muscles and bones ached, his head was throbbing with an gigantic migraine. His face felt like it had been planted into a brick wall, nose tender to the touch. He could feel various cuts and grazes on his face, which lent credence to the brick wall theory. And his stomach, well, it was all he could manage not to throw up all over himself.
Secondly, the smell of whiskey and liquor clung very tightly to himself. Which would explain the sickness and the pain.
And thirdly, Mat had no idea where the hell he was. He was laying on a couch, in the middle of some enormous living room. Christmas decorations dangled from several walls. A tree was set up to one side, shining and sparkling with festive cheer. A fire roared away in a fireplace, keeping the room a stifling temperature.
And standing in a doorway, watching him with curiosity, were a group of kids whispering amongst one another. One, Mat noticed, looked very much like a lobster. Mutant kids? Mat felt his stomach heave, and he gave a small, dry retch.
It seemed a strange turn of events. When Mat had been living on the streets, he'd have given anything to escape the miserable cold and be able to settle into somewhere nice and warm and dry until winter had passed. Now that he was living somewhere nice and warm and dry, it was all he could do not to up and leave. Even if he was currently squatting in a mansion, after the week or two that he'd been here, he was starting to feel antsy. If there was one thing Mat really disliked, it was being cooped up in one place for too long.
That was why he had opted to run away from Mute's place, rather than stay. That, among other reasons.
So rather than sit inside, in the warmth and the cozy atmosphere, with all the little mutants kiddies, Mat had decided to spend the day out in the cold wind. Deciding he should probably give himself a task to justify such foolishness, Mat had managed to 'borrow' a backpack, and had gone out for a walk in order to collect some new source materials for his sculptures. So far he had duplicated several plates of various materials, each large enough to create a small sculpture. Now that he had a semi-permanent place of residence, Mat figured he could hold on to these plates and just reuse them, rather than having to find fresh sources all the time.
So he found himself sitting on a bench out in the Mansion grounds. He held plate of blue stained glass that he had managed to duplicate. It had been duplicated from a church window, when no one was looking. Mat held it up and looked through it, admiring the world in a blue tint. Setting the plate back down on his lap, Mat gently rapped his knuckles on it and created a tiny person, as a way to test and see how the material looked when used. He sat it on the ground, and watched as it danced. The light caught hold of the tiny blue sculpture, scattering through the glass, creating a beautiful splashes of colour on the ground.
Sounds good. Nothing like a good ol' whinge about the cold I'll start if you like.
(On another note - bit of a newb question - should we consider the two having met, from the Finders Keepers thread? Or should we ignore that, considering it seemed to have died?)
Effigy has just arrived at the mansion, and I have wanted to get involved in a Raven thread for a while now, just haven't had the spare threads to do so up until now. So if you're interested I'd love to thread with you.
I don't have any specific ideas, but from what I've read the two characters are similar in their disdain for being cooped up in one place. Not to mention Effigy has the ability to create all kinds of shinies for Raven.
“This is a really bad idea, you are aware of that, right?”
Trip stared at Mat, his knowing gaze never faltering. There was no judgement in his expression, there never was. Just that look that he always had, the one that made him seem like he had all the answers. If Trip was one thing, he was observant. The Observer, they used to laughingly call him.
“You see any other choice, Dorian?” It was a rare thing for Mat to use Trip's real name, and when he did it was always for a significant reason. “After what they did, how could you possibly want to forgive them?”
Trip's expression darkened, another rare occurrence. It was uncommon that the man had anything but a look of peaceful contentment on his face. “This has nothing to do with forgiveness, and you know that. This is about revenge. And I'm asking you whether or not you are ready to go down that road?”
Mat's steely gaze was all the answer he needed.
“Alright. If you're committed to this, then let's go.” Trip placed a hand on Mat's shoulder. A gesture that said, despite his reservations, despite his wanting nothing to do with what was about to happen, Trip would play his part in this attack. Mat returned the gesture and hoped that his fathomless gratitude would be obvious on his face.
Trip, ever the pacifist. Always loyal.
The small band of now-displaced mutants stood in a line. There was no battle-cry, no words of inspiration. The only sound that could be heard were whispered prayers, muttered curses, and the repetitive slapping of Mat's foot hitting the concrete.
THWACK THWACK.
The door of the mechanic's garage swung open and a lanky man exited the building, cigarette hanging from his lips. He wore a black t-shirt with an emblem of a man, three eyes on the head. A red circle surrounded it, a straight line struck through. Below the 'no mutants' emblem were the words, 'For the good of the nation, end all mutation'. Mat saw Trip furrow his brow in concentration. The man began to look up in the air around him, as though seeing something that wasn't there. His face grew more and more scared. He began to stumble, unable to keep his balance. His shallow breathing became desperate gasps. Within a minute or so, the man had dropped to his knees, a gibbering wreck. Mat tended forget that Trip's powers weren't always fun and games.
Bad trip...
THWACK THWACK
Mat turned to Downpour and gave the woman a nod. Closing her eyes, streams of vapour began float in the air, until her entire body had evaporated into the air. Pockets gave Mat one nod, before opening one of his portals. Like pulling aside a curtain, the air split and revealed a pitch black doorway. A cricket bat slid from Pockets' sleeve and landed into his empty palm. With a short, sharp whistle, he and several others disappeared into thin air, the portal leading them to the other side of the building.
THWACK THWACK
Mat's golems began to pull themselves free from the concrete, four bulky creatures. Mat looked to Trip, the first nagging doubts about what they were about to do creeping up. Trip, in his ever knowing way, gave Mat a reassuring smile.
“We're here. Let's get it done.”
Mat nodded in agreement, and his rage overtook his growing guilt. “We're here...”
>>> “We're here.”
Mat awoke with a start, the dreamt memory lingering in his mind. Someone was shaking him. Andrew. They were here. Where was here? Taking in his surroundings, Mat's alcohol hazed brain began putting the pieces together. Andrew was driving him to a mansion. And apparently, they were here.
A giant building loomed ahead, a palace, a fortress. A mansion. Mat gawked at it for a moment, before remembering the bottle of whiskey tucked under his arm. Taking a deep breath, Mat took a sip and struggled his way out of the car. As he went to stand, his feet decided to give way, causing him to crumple to the ground. He heard a heavy sigh, and soon enough arms were dragging him to his feet. Thankful for the support, Mat clutched his bottle, and made his way inside, Andrew supporting his weight the whole way.
Still half asleep, riddled with booze, Mat paid little attention to his surroundings as they entered the building. He was too busy trying to stop the world from spinning. He found himself in a lounge room of some kind, filled with couches and a television. A Christmas tree was set up and decorated off to the side. The embers of small fire burned in the fireplace. Andrew helped Mat down onto the edge of one of the couches. Mat, drunk as he was, fell backwards onto it, spilling whiskey everywhere. Andrew promptly removed the bottle from the drunk's hands.
Just as Andrew had gotten possession of the bottle and was about to move away, Mat reached up and grabbed the man by the shirt front. Leaning up close, Mat stared into Andrew's honestly innocent face, eyes wide, still affected from his remembered dream. In his drunken state, Mat needed to get the guilt off his chest. Get it out of his system, and let it fester somewhere else, outside of his body.
Looking at the man who had helped him escape, Mat doubted that Andrew could know the guilt that he was feeling right now. He had taken part in a massacre, in complete and utter mayhem. Not only had he taken part in it, he was largely responsible for it. For organising it. For harnessing the anger, and the hurt, and the sorrow of the commune survivors, and using it all to fuel their revenge.
Righteous? Maybe. Right?
Before Andrew could reply, Mat had fallen back onto the couch. His heavy, sleeping breaths filled the silent stillness of the room.
((Let me know if you want me to change anything. Godmodded with Andrew's permission))
Mat glanced over to Andrew as he gave his condolences. They seemed genuine, so Mat decided not to yell at the man for not knowing a damn thing about it. Mat could be humble when he needed to be. “Not half as sorry as I am,” Mat muttered, half to himself, half to Andrew.
>>> "However, I mean no disrespect to you and your friends that were there, I think the Mansion will be just fine. It sees damage on a regular basis because of it's nature and is still standing."
So this guy still considered himself safe? That was fine. If he wanted to stay blind to the threats that existed out in the world, that was his problem. Mat had had his eyes opened about a year ago. Had his eyes opened about a lot of things. Like how even being prepared for the worst does not always mean you are prepared for the worst. Like discovering what other people, who wish you and the ones you love harm, are capable of.
What he, himself, was capable of...
The whiskey was quickly filling in the holes the wine and the beers at the bar had missed. The wonderful numbness Mat had sought was spread through his body. Mat's eyes grew drowsy, and for once his body didn't react with terror. His heart wasn't trying to jump through his ribcage. His lungs weren't set to explode. His original plan, it seemed, had been a success.
Mat's head slumped to the side. Face smooshed against the window, bottle tucked under his arm, Mat had passed out. Sleep had come, and for once it hadn't been the usual traumatic experience it always turned out to be.
Her reaction to his gift was so amusingly cute, so innocent and child-like that Mat could help but laugh. He was happy that she was happy. Was glad that she enjoyed his sculpture. If Andrea had any reservations about herself and her mutation, Mat hoped that the little replica could help remind her that she was in fact, herself a work of art. Nature's work of art.
She grinned once more, and this time Mat could see her teeth, elongated canines, top and bottom. He took the detail on-board, fascinated. She explained to him that the snakes' personalities seemed to correspond with their given sin, and Mat nodded along as he listened. He supposed he should have considered himself lucky that the giant white was Sloth, and not Gluttony, as Andrea pointed out the fatty snake to him. Her comment about not naming them after the Stooges elicited a laugh from him, as he imagined their semi-violent shtick being performed by a head full of snakes.
>>> "I have had them for four days, and yet they act as if I am no more attached to them as they are to me."
“Maybe they just need time to get used to you,” Mat offered. She had said that they were like children at times, maybe they really were children. “Could be that they're just curious about things, if they're as aggressive as you say.”
Mat handed Andrea the glass flower, and once more, she began to turn brown. Only this time, it wasn't a light blush. The colour of her face seemed to shift until it was almost entirely consumed by the blush, and Mat could only stifle his laughter. It seemed nearly everything he did caused her to blush. Was she really so shy? It was such an endearing trait. Just as he was about to tease her some more, she stood, snatched up his hand, and began dragging him towards the end of the alley.
>>> “Now it is my turn to give you a gift.”
Mat grinned, and allowed himself to be dragged to wherever Andrea had in mind. He had no qualms with being led away, a delicate gloved hand around his. Plus he was curious to see what this gift would be.
So Mat's suspicions were spot on, Andrew was a mutant. Every day he was in this city, Mat was less and less surprised that he kept running into them. They were not uncommon in Australia. So why should they be uncommon in the most mutant populated city in the world? Mat wondered what Andrew's mutation was, but refrained from asking. If he wanted to share, he would.
Some mutants were touchy about their mutations.
He answered Mat's question about where they were headed, and for a moment Mat wasn't sure that he heard right. A mansion? The guy was taking Mat to a mansion? A perverse grin grew as he thought about the irony of coming off the streets and into a mansion. Andrew explained further, that the mansion was both a school and a home for mutants, mostly kids.
That was enough to wipe the grin off Mat's face.
A place where wayward mutants could all live together, safe and sound? Mat knew a place like that once. It hadn't been a mansion, but the principle had been the same. A dark expression grew on Mat's face. They had been sure that they were nice and safe too. Confident that nothing could touch them.
Bile began to rise up Mat's throat at the memories that were beginning to bubble up.
When Mat spotted what he was after, and Andrew slammed on the brakes, Mat couldn't get out the car fast enough. He spun around and leant back into the car. “I'll just be a sec.”
He began rushing towards the vagrant he had spotted sitting on the footpath, slumped up against a wall. Familiar brown paper bag in hand. Mat had lost his own drink in the confusion earlier, and was in no state to buy another one from a store. He was too obviously drunk, and besides, he wasn't sure that he could find another provider of alcohol willing to turn a blind eye to an immigrant with no I.D.
But that wasn't to say he couldn't buy one off one of his own.
Rummaging through his pockets, Mat prayed to Gods he didn't particularly believe in that he could find a note of money. As fortune had it, there was a stray $50 in his coat pocket, forgotten until now. Mat stared at it in wonder for a moment. Business must have been better than he thought. Rushing over to the vagrant, Mat crouched down and held the note out.
“Fifty for whatever you're drinking, mate. Help a fellow out.”
The vagrant stared up at Mat, glassy eyed. He took in Mat's attire, the way he carried himself, the desperation in his eyes. Then he looked to the money being offered.
“You do realise you could buy a couple of fresh ones for that,” the hobo said, taking the cash from Mat's hands and checking it was real.
“Buyer's market, mate,” was all Mat said, before snatching the bottle. “Consider it an early Christmas present from a brother on the streets.” With that, Mat stumbled his way back to the car, and hopped in. Anticipating the dirty looks he was probably going to get, Mat gave a mocking grin, and wiped the bottle opening on his shirt. That was one problem solved.
“A mutant school, eh?” He sloshed the liquid in the bottle around and took a deep pull. The liquor burned his throat, and made him cough and splutter. Whiskey. The vagrant was obviously a more hardcore drunk than Mat. “A place where mutants can all live together, eh, nice and safe and sound?” Bitterness was creeping into his voice now, unfiltered with drink. He took another swig, and felt his cheeks begin to flush and burn. “I used to live in a place like that once, y'know.”
Swig.
“Place got burned to the ground, most of us still inside.”
There's a certain pride that fills an artist, whenever somebody admires one of their works. Mat always assumed that it was the same sort of pride a parent feels whenever their child makes some kind of achievement. Winning a footy match, perhaps. Or coming first in a spelling bee. Mat wasn't a parent, so he couldn't make that judgement. All he knew was that when Andrea moved forward to get a closer look, and let out a joyful giggle, Mat was filled with that warm pride. His art wasn't just for his own enjoyment, it was for the enjoyment of the world. It was his duty as an artist to share the beauty in things he saw. Whether it be the enchantment of something mundane, like a family doing the shopping, or the elegance hidden behind an intimidating front, like a mutant girl with snakes in her hair. He watched as Andrea turned the sculpture over in her gloved hands, and he hoped that she could see the beauty within herself.
It was his job as an artist to show her.
>>> “...It is absolutely beautiful.”
She made to hand it back, and Mat shook his head with a grin. “Keep it.” He didn't know whether Andrea would find it awkward or not, having a sculpture of herself, but if she didn't like it she could always dispose of it. Mat wouldn't be offended. The gesture was what was important.
>>> “You must feel blessed to have such a gift.”
Again, Mat smiled. He did feel blessed, but didn't want to voice the thought. Compared to a lot of mutants, Mat had it easy. His gift let him fit in, let him be anonymous should he so choose. It let him do something he loved to do, at the level he wished to do it. Art had always been a love of his, despite the fact he was never any good at it prior to his mutation. His sister had gotten all the artistic genes from their mother. Mat watched Andrea, wondering how difficult her mutation must have made life for her. The ignorant masses, Mat knew, wouldn't be able to see past the green skin, past the snakes. And because of that, she would never be given the chance she deserved. Never be treated as the gorgeous woman she was.
Since coming to America, Mat had started to see just how cruelly mutants were treated, every day.
He asked her about her snakes, and saw the expression on her face drop. She explained how they had their own minds, and how they were still aggressive. Mat, having been the focal point of their aggression earlier on, could testify on that fact. Still, seeing Andrea smack one on the snout and mention how they were like children, Mat couldn't help but give a little laugh. She introduced them all, evidently having given them all names. Sloth, it seemed, was the giant white that had taken such an interest in Mat. As Andrea gave out names, Mat's nervousness towards the serpents lessened. The names made them more human in a way, made them more like a part of Andrea. He laughed as she blushed and introduced the last one, Lust. A strange name for a snake. In fact, Mat had recognised several of the names. There were seven snakes in total, and Mat put two and two together.
“You named them after the seven sins?”
She looked at the golems standing guard once more, and turned to Mat, her smile now returned. Mat could swear that a some of her teeth were longer than the others, but couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered to him, he just liked knowing all the details.
>>> “Are these the only kind of art you can do?”
“Pretty much. I can vary the shape and materials of my sculptures, but sculptures are the only thing I can make. I couldn't draw a picture to save my life,” he explained with a chuckle. He stood up and wandered over to one of the garbage bins that lined the alley. On the ground next to one was a glass bottle. Picking it up, Mat returned to where he was sitting and slapped the bottle. A glass rose sprouted forth, as an example of his being able to vary shape and source. Mat offered it to Andrea.
He may have had other intentions with the flower, aside from using it as an example.
>>> "I make things as well, though they aren't as intricate..."
Mat grinned a wide grin, the type that occurs when finding someone who shares a passion of yours. So she was an artist as well? Fantastic.
So the bleeding heart had had a run in with the cops at some stage? Now that was interesting. Mat shrugged at the man's explanation. If he wanted to be a coward about the escape, then that was his choice. Not like it was Mat's car that got damaged in the attempt. He still maintained that any idiot dumb enough not to move out the way of a car deserved what was coming to them. Still, they were away, and that was all that mattered.
No point dwelling on it.
>>> “I'm Andrew. You?”
Mat glanced over at the guy. “Mat. Or Effigy. Take your pick, I seem to go by both nowadays.” Though, truth be told, since the commune he had only given his mutant name out once, to Mute. And that was simply because they didn't exactly trust one another enough to give out real names. Mat briefly wondered what her real name was. He doubted he'd ever find out.
And he was unsure as to whether or not that fact depressed him.
Staring out the window, Mat watched as the city raced past. The drunkenness that Mat had worked so hard to achieve had been pushed aside by the adrenaline and excitement of the chase, and was only now beginning to slowly return. Too slowly. Especially after all that just happened. Mat glanced down at his hands and noticed they were shaking. He bit his lip, and clenched his hands into fists. That escape had been closer than he would have liked. Mentally, he berated himself for his body's involuntary reaction to the mayhem and violence. He should have been used to this sort of stuff by now.
It bothered him that these things bothered him.
“I need a drink,” he muttered to himself. As if he wasn't having enough trouble sleeping lately, now it would be damn near impossible.
He glanced once more to the driver. Andrew. That was his name. Mat furrowed his brow, trying to figure out why this guy had gone out of his way to help. It was clear, from the smell that lingered on him and the shabby condition of his clothes, that Mat was homeless. Clear enough that you could tell if you knew what to look for, anyway. Who actually cared enough about the homeless enough to step in the middle of a near-lynching? Especially the mutant homeless?
“You're a mutie, aren't you?” Mat asked, accidentally verbalising the last part of his thoughts. “No one else would be stupid enough to try and stop another mutant from getting himself killed.” Most people would be getting in line for the mob, pitchforks in hand.
“So,” Mat began, deciding he should probably find out a few things, “where're we going?” Seemed a prudent thing to know, despite the fact that Mat didn't really care. His whole life now seemed to be going from one place to another without a clue of where he was, or what he was doing. Bitterly, Mat remembered that that sort of living was what he always told himself he wanted.
Outside the window, Mat spotted something that caught his immediate attention. “Wait, stop the car!” He was already moving to leave his seat before the car had even come to a complete stop.
>>> "I am fine... I just do not like the sound of police cars, is all."
“I know the feeling,” Mat grinned. In Australia, the sound had often meant a night of lock up, at most. They had usually followed some youthful indiscretion. Usually following a night on the booze, or whatever else may have been passed around. Since coming to America though, the sound reminded Mat that he was a long way from home. The sound reminded him of things he had done, the more serious things. The things he had done himself, and the things he had become accomplice to.
Like teaming up with a woman who killed police officers without batting an eyelid.
>>> “Are those...um...things yours? ...What are they?”
Mat's attention was drawn from memories of Mute to the two golems he had standing at the end of the alleyway. “What, those? Yeah they're mine.” A proud smile crossed his face. “They're my art.”
>>> “How do you make them?
Mat gave the concrete ground a couple of slaps, looked up at the woman, then held the image in his mind. A concrete replica of her, no larger than a child's doll, sprouted from the ground. Hood down, hair billowing out, and snakes sticking out. The giant white he made drape over the shoulders, like a fashionable boa. With a mental prompt, Mat made it take a few steps towards the woman.
“It's my mutation. I can duplicate certain materials, and control it.” The sculpture girl gave a twirl and curtsied to the real one. “It's like I leave a part of myself in the material whenever I hit it. Once the connection is broken...” Mat released the connection, and the sculpture froze in place, a wistful smile on it's features. “I can duplicate pretty much anything, so long as it's natural, and not living.”
Mat explained what happened to her, and the girl frowned, and promptly apologised. Then she laughed, thanked him and extended a gloved hand. She grinned once more and Mat found himself mirroring the expression.
>>> "I am Andrea, It is a pleasure to meet you, Mat."
“A pleasure meeting you too, Andrea.” He didn't just say it out of politeness. Mat glanced at the girl once more, captivated by her. It genuinely was a pleasure.
Andrea. Beautiful name. Beautiful girl.
Out of nowhere, one of the black snakes darted from Andrea's hair, and snagged itself a rat. The force of it tugged Andrea slightly, and she began cursing in some foreign language. Now that he thought about it, there was a trace of an accent in her voice when she was speaking English. Which meant she may have been a fellow refugee. Or at least an expat. She fought over the rat with the snake, almost like trying to wrest a ball from a dog's mouth. Finally, Andrea prevailed. The snake retreated back into the mass of black hair, eerie orange eyes peeking out.
Ok, so that was a little off-putting.
>>> "I am going to have to put muzzles on you guys... Really, I am..."
“Your...uh...your snakes? You can't control them?” he asked, hoping he didn't insult her. Not that he was afraid of them, of course. It's just that, uh, he was a little afraid of them...
For a moment Mat thought that maybe his words had gotten through to her. Agnes stopped just before she left the garden and seemed to listen to what Mat had to say. But the moment she spun around to face him, he could see that her mind had already been made up. He sighed, but said nothing. He had no right to say anything.
>>>“Thanks…maybe one day I’ll run into you again... But I need to be by myself for now. Hopefully it won’t last much longer…but for now I need to be alone.”
Mat nodded and let the corner of his lips curve into a small smile. “If that's what you need, then that's what you need.”
Agnes walked back over to Mat, an awkward look on her face, eyes darting to the side. In one quick motion, she leant down and gave Mat a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping away. Mat gave her a thankful smile. Thankful that, despite his partially trying to interfere in her life, she still trusted him enough for the gesture. Mat watched her as she slowly began making her way back to the gate. Despite the tough front she put up, despite whatever traumas she had gone through at home, Mat was sure that deep down she was still an innocent soul. A beautiful girl who had suffered more than she deserved. More than anybody deserved.
He desperately hoped the streets wouldn't suck that innocence out of her.
>>> “Stay safe, Mat. And thank you for rescuing me when you did... I’m usually around this neighborhood if you need to find me again.”
And with that, she left.
Mat sat for a moment, then decided to yell out one more piece of sagely advice. “Don't let the streets get to you!” His voice echoed off of cold brick and stone, chasing the girl down the alley.
Sitting back, Mat took a small nibble from a prawn, wrinkled his nose, and lobbed it across the yard. It landed in the scum-filled pond with a tiny plonk. Suddenly, Mat's appetite was lost.
With all the excitement having now died down, Mat resumed his ongoing battle with sleep. Luckily for him, the cold made it hard to get too comfortable and fall asleep. Unfortunately, it was still a losing battle, and Mat found himself drifting in and out once more, his chest tightening every time it happened. Still, slumber had the high ground. It held the advantage, and was preparing to charge...
>>> “Ah!”
“Ah!”
Mat looked over to the girl, whose startled cry had prompted Mat's own startled cry. She pushed her snakes away from her face, and sat upright. When she saw Mat her face flushed the same shade of brown it had earlier. She gave a cough and began um-ing and uh-ing. Mat grinned, still amused by it.
>>> “Hello”
“Mornin' sunshine,” he beamed. He watched with fascination as the girl fidgeted around. Now that she was sitting upright, snakes sticking out from her black hair, Mat took the time to take a good look at her. With her sunglasses and dress, she looked like a chic Medusa. “You alright?”
He watched as the giant white snake slithered over the girl's chest and she drummed her fingers on it's scaly hide. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and Mat couldn't help but smile with along with her. She had a nice smile. The other snakes retreated into the girl's hair, and Mat found himself wondering what it must be like having snakes living in your hair.
>>> “Where are we?”
“I'm not really sure. An alley somewhere. You, ah, you passed out so I thought it would be best to get you away from where we got kicked off,” Mat said, rubbing at his neck. “I may have cause a bit of a scene, what with the bus and all.” He gave a sheepish grin. “Didn't want you getting into trouble 'cause of me.”
I'll start if you like.